Chapter 8 - Blaine Finally Admitted Driving Mike Away
Blaine’s story collapsed when I said “North House.”
Until then, he had insisted he knew nothing about Mike.
The moment I named the place, his face betrayed him.
The officer noticed too.
“Mr. Mercer?”
Blaine stared at the floor.
Then at me.
Then at Hadley, who was sitting safely across the room with the house manager.
His expression changed.
Not guilt disappearing.
Something closer to the moment guilt finally becomes heavier than loyalty.
“I drove him there,” Blaine said.
My hands tightened.
The officer stepped closer.
“When?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
“Why?”
“Celeste told me Mike was out of control. She said he’d been stealing things and accusing her of stuff.”
“You believed that?”
Blaine looked ashamed.
“I believed enough.”
“Did you force him into the car?”
“No.”
That surprised me.
“He went because Celeste told him I was taking him to you.”
My stomach turned.
“She used my name.”
“Yes.”
Mike trusted me.
Celeste had weaponized that trust to get him into Blaine’s car.
“What happened at North House?”
“I left him in the upstairs sitting room. Door wasn’t locked when I left.”
“Then why didn’t he come home?”
“Because Celeste arrived afterward.”
There was the second stage.
“Did you see her?”
“No. She called me later and said she had him handled.”
“What did that mean?”
“I didn’t ask.”
I stepped closer.
“You should have.”
He looked at me then.
“I know.”
That was the first honest thing he had said.
“Why were you helping her steal my books?”
Blaine’s mouth tightened.
His restoration business had failed eighteen months earlier. He owed vendors. Lost clients. Celeste had discovered how much several of my first editions were worth and proposed a way to “borrow value without anyone getting hurt.”
Make facsimiles.
Move originals privately.
Sell to collectors willing not to ask too many questions.
Replace the books before anyone noticed.
“And Mike noticed,” I said.
Blaine nodded.
“He came into the studio three weeks ago when Celeste brought him by. He picked up one of the replacement bindings and said the gold was wrong.”
Eight years old.
That was all it took.
Not an auditor.
Not an expert.
A child who knew his grandfather’s books.
“Why The Lantern Boy?”
Blaine looked at me.
“Because that was the anchor piece.”
“What does that mean?”
“The buyer wouldn’t close on the other seven without it.”
My chest went cold.
Celeste didn’t merely need Mike silent.
She needed him to tell her where the book was before the sale deadline.
May you like
And that gave her a reason to keep moving him until he did.
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